


What's in a Name

by verbaeghe



Series: Double-Oh [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Kidnapping, Light Angst, M/M, Not Hockey Players (Hockey RPF), Prequel, Rescue Missions, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe
Summary: Braydon doesn't even know how long he's been in this tiny room anymore. He's lost his Q and he's pretty sure he's been left for dead by MI6.Then he's rescued.And that's only the start.





	What's in a Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sugarchev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarchev/gifts).

> Hi! So, here's this. It doesn't break the rules because _I asked_.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Many thanks to [redacted until the reveal] for looking this over and also for agreeing to start another series with me.

**ONE**

Braydon doesn’t know how long he’s been here, locked in this small windowless room. There’s nothing to pass the time but the length of his scraggly beard and the occasional meal through a slat at the bottom of the door. 

There’s been no demands; no questions. Just him, trapped in this room with the weight of his failure.

He sits there on the ground, illuminated under one buzzing light bulb, thinking about how he lost his Q, lost _Marty_, just when he was finally trusted with his Q’s name.

He wonders if they consider him dead yet, if they’ve replaced him with a new 005, a better agent. One who won’t lose his Q and get caught in the process.

The door flies open and Braydon squints up into a blinding light. No, there’s a vaguely human-shaped blob blocking out some of the light. Maybe all of this will finally be over. 

He doesn’t know how much fight he has left, but he isn’t going down without one. He’s just about to scramble to his feet. In a second here, just wait.

“Hey, lookie who I finally found,” a smart little cockney accent teases.

...what? 

Braydon blinks a couple of times as the blob comes closer, manages to focus on light curls and a half smile. He thinks he might recognize this guy, but he doesn’t know--

“Let’s get you outta here,” he says softly. “Can you stand?”

“I--” Braydon chokes on the word, his voice dry from disuse. 

“Oi! Someone bring me some water!” Water appears and Curls helps him sip on it for a couple minutes. “Better?” Braydon nods. “Think you can stand now?”

“Uh, maybe?” he croaks out.

“That’s okay, I got ya.” His half smile melts into a grin.

“T-thanks.” Curls pulls him up, drapes one of Braydon’s arms over his shoulder and helps him walk out of the tiny room. 

Braydon might find the facilities to be surprised at the display of strength later.

//

Braydon startles awake. He thrashes about a bit, trying to get his bearings, to work out where he is and what--

“Whoa! Calm down,” a familiar voice soothes. It cuts through some of his panic and he flops back down onto the bed. “There, that’s better.”

“I can’t believe that MI6 really came after me,” Braydon says, voice still a raspy half-whisper.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty important,” Curls says, tucking the blanket back around him. “Hope you don’t mind, but I took care of that gross beard for you.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“Left that flow, though. Your hair is something else.” Curls is smirking now.

Braydon means to have a witty, flirty reply for him, but what comes out is, “I don’t know who you are.”

“Well, that’s easy. ‘M Slater.”

“Slater,” Braydon echoes, mostly to himself. He isn’t totally sure that isn’t some sort of codename. “I’m--”

“I know who you are, 005,” Slater’s smirk softens. “After all, I came and got you, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“You should get some more sleep now. Everything else can wait.”

Sleep. Yeah, that sounds good. He falls back asleep with the sensation of a hand in his hair.

//

“How much longer am I going to be stuck in this bed like an invalid?” Braydon whines when Slater brings him his lunch.

“Until you aren’t an invalid anymore?” Slater asks innocently, placing a tray across his lap.

“I’m not--” His complaint is cut short when he hisses in pain. 

“See, and I just poked you in the ribs.”

“Who pokes someone in the ribs?” Braydon grumbles, looking down at his tray. 

“Me, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Braydon echoes, picking up his sandwich.

“I have to go do some stuff at the office, will you be okay here until I get back?”

“Don’t leave me here alone.” Braydon isn’t normally one to pout, but he hates spending this much time by himself.

“I have work to do besides you,” Slater replies. 

“Do you though?” 

They both seem to realize exactly what they’ve said at the same time. Braydon is above blushing at this point, it was trained out of him ages ago. Slater sure isn’t though, and it looks lovely coloring the arch of his cheekbone. 

Braydon clears his throat, looks out the nearby window, frowns at the dreary drizzle. “I’m just missing so much of this lovely London summer.”

“Oh, y’got jokes now?” Slater asks, recovering quite well, actually. 

Braydon decides to do him a favour and let him off the hook. “Sometimes.” He sighs. “I guess I’ll just try and nap. Again.”

Slater frowns at him. “Playing dirty.” 

Braydon blinks at him and offers him a tight-lipped smile. 

Slater huffs. “Let me make a call.” 

It feels like the first victory Braydon’s had in a while and he’ll take it.

That’s how Braydon comes to find himself shoved into a small computer chair next to Slater’s desk. 

He’s been in Q-branch previously, they all have, he just never really paid attention before. There is a lot happening. Things beeping and flashing and clicking, and so many freaking noises that he’s never noticed.

“Oi, all right over there?” Slater’s voice cuts right through whatever meltdown he’s having, grounds him.

That...is probably not a good thing.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s the first time I’ve been around so...much...since, well, you know.” Braydon takes a deep breath, letting it go slowly through his mouth.

“I know, and I’m here for ya,” Slater pats his arm absently and smiles, his attention still mostly on the motherboard in front of him.

“What are you making?”

“I’m just working on a, you know what, it doesn’t really matter.” Slater smiles at him. “Wanna learn how to make dagger shoes?”

“Are you trying to distract me?” Braydon tries not to return his smile, isn’t sure he succeeds.

“Could be.” Slater shrugs. “Is it working?”

Braydon starts to answer, but is distracted when 006 and his Q breeze into the room, all arms and loud complaining. 

“Why would M waste my time like this?” 006 is yelling, dark eyebrows pushed together.

Braydon used to think that 006 dyed that perfect blonde hair because of those eyebrows, but he was wrong. And it isn't important.

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to waste your time,” his Q answers. Braydon recognizes him, with his aquiline nose that’s obviously been broken in the past. His hair isn’t quite as light as 006’s, but his eyebrows sure are. 

They cross right through, yelling at one another the whole way until they exit through the far door, towards M’s office.

“What were they on about?” Braydon asks, his voice hushed.

“Trying to get some info on The Saint, I think.”

“The Saint?” Braydon echoes. 

“Yeah, you aren’t up to speed on him.” Slater goes back to his motherboard. “That’s for later, when you’re reinstated.”

“Hey, why are you working on that again?” Braydon asks. 

Slater looks up, confused. 

“I thought we were going to make dagger shoes?”

“Oh, right. Let’s do that, then.”

Remarkably, it only takes him five tries to make a pair that works. Slater runs and gloats to another Q, who looks pretty put out about it. But that might just be his eyebrows. 

“What was that about?” he asks, pulling his eyes away from that weird loaf of hair as Slater returns to his side.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, let’s go home and have some dinner.”

Something about the way Slater phrases it makes Braydon feel all warm and fuzzy. Shit, he isn’t getting feelings for this kid that has to take care of him, is he?

No.

Certainly not.

//

“Did you make bangers and mash?” Braydon asks in disbelief as he takes a seat at the small square table. Someone, probably Slater, picks a new bouquet of wildflowers for the centerpiece every day, and it’s nice. Homey.

“Shush, you. That’s right comfort food, it is.” Slater’s eyes widen. “‘M sorry, sometimes my accent gets away from me, and I--”

“It’s fine, Slater, don’t worry about it.” Braydon offers him a smile. “You’re right, it’s comfort food.” He takes a bite, ponders a question for a second. “Tell me about The Saint.”

“No.”

“Slater, come on, I deserve to know--”

“No, you deserve to heal and worry about all of that later.” Slater frowns. “Besides, I didn’t get to talk to Stammer.”

“Is Stammer the Q?” 

“Ah, bollocks,” Slater curses. “Look, it’s fine, that’s just his code name.”

“Is it because he stammers?”

“Nope, but that isn’t something I can tell you.”

“Can you tell me why your code name is Slater then?” Braydon asks, going for charming. It works a bit, because Slater blushes.

“That’s, ah, that’s my actual name,” he admits. 

Oh, maybe his charm didn’t work after all. Also, “What do you mean, it’s your _actual name_?” He drops his fork, it clatters noisily. “A Quartermaster isn’t supposed to--”

“‘M not your Quartermaster,” Slater says quietly.

“What?”

“I’m not anyone’s Quartermaster,” Slater says. “I make gadgets, but I’m not.” He huffs. “I’m just a tech and you aren’t even an active agent at the moment, Braydon.”

“You know _my_ name?”

“I told you that I know who you are.” Slater’s voice is quiet. “I rescued you, after all.”

Braydon feels angry at this turn of events. He didn’t need the reminder that the Q, pardon, the _Not Q_, sitting across from him is more of an agent than him right now. More of an agent, but didn’t even protect his identity. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, drops it on the plate. 

“I think I’m through with dinner, thanks.”

“Bray--, 005, just--”

Braydon walks out of the room before he can hear whatever platitude Slater has. 

//

Braydon knows he’s dreaming. Knows that he’s already lived through not being able to save his Q, save _Marty_, that he’s already been rescued from this tiny room. 

But none of that makes this any less terrifying. 

He wants to wake up, but he can’t. He’s stuck in this loop of Marty being taken while he’s locked in the room, over and over. No rescue, no Slater, just captured and locked up again and again, with no esca--

“Hey, whoa,” Slater snaps back when Braydon flails out, almost popping him right in the face.

“Was I...was I making a lot of noise?” Braydon pants out.

“No, you were moving a lot, but no noise. It isn’t why I came in here.” Slater screws up his face. “Are you okay?”

“It was just a little nightmare, don’t worry about it,” Braydon dismisses. “Tell me why you’re in here at…” He squints at the red numbers on the clock for a second. “Seven a.m.”

“I have a peace offering for you,” Slater says. He’s sheepish, which is cute. 

Braydon doesn’t even remember why he was mad. Oh. “I’ve already slept since I had my tantrum. I’m fine now and don’t need any peace offerings. As a matter of fact, I hope that you forgive me for acting so childish.”

“Are you saying that you don’t wanna sit in on 002’s mission?” Slater asks in a sing-song.

“I can sit in on a mission?” Braydon raises his eyebrows. 

“Yeah. Kuuuuuuuuu, uh, his Q is feeling pretty generous this morning.” Slater shrugs. “Or he wants an audience to listen to him bitch about 002.”

“What’s so bad about 002?” Braydon asks. 

Famous last words. 

“Jesus Christ, could he do that any _slower_?” Braydon asks in disbelief as 002 spends his twenty-second minute picking a simple lock. No code, no scanner, nothing that requires anything more than a basic lock pick, and he’s been at it for almost half an hour.

“You have no idea how much slower he can do this,” 002’s Q grumbles from behind his screen. 

“One time he took three hours to scale a wall,” Slater says. He almost sounds giddy, which is weird, until, “I won a pool because of it.”

“Do...do you guys have pools on agents a lot?”

“No, just 002,” Slater replies. “He makes it so easy.”

“Finally got the door open,” 002’s Q says. “New record.”

“Why hasn’t he retired?” Braydon squints at the screen a bit while 002 sneaks through the door he’s finally opened. 

“He’s M’s favorite,” Slater dismisses with a wave. “He isn’t going anywhere unless he really bungles something. Or actually decides to retire.”

A bespectacled dark curly mop in a cardigan dashes by outside, causing Braydon to sit up. “Who was _that_?”

“What?” Slater seems a little annoyed, Braydon doesn’t know why. “Did you bonk your head recently? He isn’t new.” Slater frowns. “He even ran you a couple of times when your Quartermaster was on vacation.”

“That’s Q?” Braydon blinks a couple of times.”I don’t remember quite so much hair?”

“Oh. That. Yeah, that’s new.” Slater taps Braydon’s cheek, draws his attention back. “C’mon, let’s get back to laughing at 002.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Braydon smiles at him before they turn back to see that 002 still hasn’t made it through the second door. 

“No, seriously, how do you put up with this?” Braydon asks.

“Isn’t easy,” is the only answer he gets before an alarm starts going off on the screen. “Dammit,” the Q hisses before he starts typing furiously.

“Maybe we should leave now,” Slater whispers, herding Braydon towards the nearest door. 

//

Braydon is hunched down in the chair next to the bed he’s spent most of his time in the past however many weeks. He’s frowning into the distance at nothing while he mulls over the visit to Headquarters.

“Hey, what do you want for din--” Slater stops short, barely in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I should retire,” Braydon answers. 

“What? No--”

“I should, before I’m a laughingstock that Qs have betting pots on whether or not I’ll fail a particular mission.” Braydon shakes his head, chews on his thumbnail a bit before adding, “I was already caught, so M is probably waiting for a resignation anyway.”

Slater stomps right up to him, dropping to his knees and looking up into Braydon’s face. “I didn’t rescue you so you could leave me.”

“You--what?” Braydon blinks.

“I’m going to tell you something that I’m not supposed to say until you’re ready to come back, okay?”

Braydon should tell him to keep the confidentiality so they aren’t both canned, but he’s curious what could be so big. “About what?” he finally asks quietly. 

“They think you getting caught was an inside job, that someone from MI6 turned on us and that’s why they got you.” Slater reached out, places a hand on Braydon’s jaw. “Why they got your Q.”

“Slater…” Braydon’s eyes drop closed as he releases a shuddering sigh. 

“You’re the best agent of the lot.”

“I’m not charming, graceful, or flashy. Not even when I was young. I’m not even close to the best.”

“You are two-thirds of that first sentence, and you don’t have to be flashy and young to be the best. It isn’t like you’re old, Braydon.” Slater brings up his other hand and now he’s cupping Braydon’s jaw. Braydon’s heart beats double-time.

He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. Like he’s a real person and not the means to an end.

“You have to say these things so you don’t feel like you wasted your first field mission.” Braydon shrugs, tries to pull away. 

“No. You. Get back here.” Slater doesn’t wait for him to return, instead surges towards him. 

Braydon places hands on his shoulders and stops him. “You don’t have to kiss me to prove I’m not old and washed up.”

“I want to kiss you because I was half in love with you before I knew you and now that I know you properly I’m full tilt in love with you.” Slater smirks. “Maybe you _are_ a bit daft.” 

“You really know how to charm someone, don’t you?” Braydon asks with a small bark of laughter. 

“You tell me,” Slater’s voice has gone playful. 

Braydon reaches for his curls, wraps a couple around his fingers. “You’re too young and beautiful for me,” he says, laying his worries bare.

Slater’s hands slip up, run into his hair and squeeze as he pulls Braydon into a kiss.

“You _are_ beautiful.” He nuzzles Braydon’s nose. “You’re too clever and smart and high class for _me_.” He presses a hard kiss to Braydon’s lips. “But we can still make it work.”

Braydon pulls back. “You want to...make something work? With me?”

“Y’think I spend this much time on every agent?” Slater asks, annoyed. 

And, fair.

“You really want to have a thing with a double-oh agent?” Braydon sits up a bit, pulls Slater into his lap.

“No, you lump. I want a relationship with you.” Slater socks him in the shoulder like they’re in prep school or some shit.

Braydon huffs. “If you’re sure.”

“Completely,” Slater says, pulling him into another kiss. 

**TWO**

Being part of MI6 has always sort of been a challenge for Slater. He doesn’t have the usual, erm, pedigree of the usual Quartermaster. 

He’s smart, has a mind for numbers and can remember anything if he sees it once, which means they need him, but he’s ‘hard to understand’ and ‘most agents don’t like his smirky face’ so he’s never run a mission.

So, of course, he’s on his way to headquarters and his mind wanders back to the events that have led him to where he is right now. 

Slater’d toiled away, proving that he can make proper dagger shoes repeatedly in some small windowless room for about two months before someone deemed him Good Enough and he was brought into Q-Branch proper for a chance to work on something _real_.

He’d had his own workspace in Q-Branch for about two weeks before he actually saw an agent. 

005.

Slater’s heart leapt into his throat the first time he saw 005 walk by. Everyone’s heard all the stories about how dashing, how suave and beautiful double-oh agents supposedly are, but he’d never seen anyone like 005.

So Slater spent all of his extra time watching him. Sweet talking Marty so he could sit in. Helped out in any way he could, let Marty have all of his best inventions. It was important to learn everything he could (read: he had to make sure 005 got back from his missions in one piece). 

And he was surprised to find out how different 005 was from most other agents, more reserved and quiet. Fucking smart and understated with it, he never made stupid decisions, never upset Marty. 

And his smile. It’s…

Slater’d been in a lot of trouble quick. Head over heels for an agent who didn’t even know he existed.

Marty picked him to be the on-call when he and 005 went on that ill-fated mission. Two months, deep undercover and Marty was with 005 so they didn’t have to communicate long distance for a long time. 

He’d been excited to finally have something to do that was almost Q-like. He was the contact! Someone thought he was good enough to watch their backs, to do something more than just invent fancy fun things that someone else handed to agents. 

002 came to Marty’s desk, wanting to know how to work some ridiculously simple item, Slater can’t even recall it now, when he got the call that Marty and 005, that Marty and _Braydon_ were in distress. 

He may have told 002 to shut up, go away and get a for dummies book to solve his issue, but it wasn’t important.

“Hey, talk to me,” Slater said, hastily logging in to Marty’s computer.

“Dere’s agent evr’ywhere,” Marty’s French accent was harder to understand than usual. Slater could tell that they were running. 

“Hold on, I’ve almost got a lock on you guys,” Slater’s fingers flew over the keys, trying to rush the tracking information into locking onto them more quickly. 

He needed to find them a way out, and he should have been done some time around early yesterday.

“Alright, Q, there’s a--”

“Non, dere is no time,” Marty cuts him off. “The night is always darkest before the dawn."

“What?”

“Q, listen to me,” Marty’d said, like Slater was someone and not a nobody about to lose an agent and a high-ranked Quartermaster. “The night. Is always darkest. Before the dawn."

“I don’t, just let me--” 

The line’d gone dead at the same time Marty and 005’s dots disappeared off his screen.

“Shit.”

Slater hadn’t ever really trusted Richie, so he didn’t want to go to him with what happened. He knew that there was someone better that could help him. 

Someone he could trust.

“Tony, I need your help,” Slater slid right up to Tony’s desk and dropped the tape with a clatter. 

“Can it wait? I am trying to apply for--” Tony stopped short after he looked up. “Tell me what happened.”

Slater filled him in as quietly and quickly as he possibly could. Tony had to slow him down a couple of times, but he eventually managed. “You have to help me, I know it’s against.” He dropped his voice. “I know what will happen if M finds out he’s taken.”

“You mean _they_ were?” Tony asked, cocking his head.

“Gods, yes. That’s what I meant,” Slater’s heart was in his throat. He wasn’t anything to Braydon, but the thought of never seeing 005 again was something he couldn’t deal with.

Especially not on his watch. 

“Let me see the tape?” Tony asked. Slater handed it over. He popped it into a nearby computer and...nothing played. “Is this the right one?”

“Yeah, I pulled it out after the call myself,” Slater was panicking; he could feel his vision going dark around the edges. He was so incompetient that M was totally going to fire him in--

“Hey, listen to me.” Tony gave him a little shake. “This isn’t the end of the world, because it was you that Marty talked to, right?”

Slater nodded. 

“So tell me exactly what he said at the end,” Tony raised his eyebrows in encouragement.

“He said, uh. He said. ‘The night is always darkest before the dawn’, but what does that mean?”

“I think that maybe you should take these papers and return to your desk.” Tony held out a file.

“I don’t have a desk,” Slater shook his head. 

“Go to Marty’s desk then,” Tony said with a small smile that was more than just a bit unnerving.

“Uh, okay.” Slater took the file and retreated. 

It didn’t take long for him to realize that Marty’d spoke in Q-Code and that Tony, of all people, had given him the key so he could solve it. 

The little hairs on the back of Slater’s neck stand on end and he raises himself to full height, pays attention to his surroundings a little better. 

Bollocks, he shouldn’t have gotten so caught up in reminiscing about his Big Win and now he doesn’t even know how many people are following him.

He tries to remember his training, takes a defensive stance even though there isn’t anything he can back up to. 

They advance rapidly. He manages to take two down and break a third’s nose before something sharp pokes him in the neck and he loses consciousness.

Slater comes to on a couch. He sits up, trying to shake off his grogginess. He screws up his face in disbelief. Who would go through all this trouble to take him? He’s nothing to anyone in MI6, there’s nothing to be gained by taking him. 

_Then again_, Slater thinks as he looks around the empty room, _maybe that’s why no one is here._

He jumps up and makes a run for it, making it only a handful of feet before he hits something and is thrown straight onto his ass.

Slater sulks there on the floor, rubbing his nose absentmindedly while he stares at nothing. Eventually he pulls off his shoe and tosses it. It hits an invisible barrier, sending blue lightning bolts rushing outward from the point of contact. 

Double bollocks.

Slater uses his shoe to figure out the rough dimensions of his holding cell, for lack of a better term. He has about fifty square feet of space, which really seems quite generous compared to how he found Braydon. 

Maybe he’ll get moved somewhere smaller soon. Who knows?

He sighs and starts to take another look around the room, see if he missed anything, when a door at the far wall slides open. He immediately drops back to the couch and closes his eyes, hoping that whoever it is didn’t see him. 

Luckily the guy seems wrapped up in the tablet in his hand when Slater cracks his eyes open and squints a bit. 

“No, Boss, he isn’t awake yet.”

“Are you sure? It’s important that you don’t talk to me in his presence.” The voice is garbled in a way that’s very familiar to Slater, and he’d be more pissed that someone stole his tech if there wasn’t something so familiar about the lilt of the voice. 

“Yeah, I can see him from here. He’s still out cold.”

“Just keep him there until he’s found.”

Slater almost gives himself away, almost sits right up at that, because it doesn’t make any sense that they’d take him just to...give him back?

The thug, or whoever he is, walks back out of the room instead of giving Slater more information he could use. 

Rude.

**THREE**

Braydon gets bored and takes the Underground into the city. He knows that he’s technically supposed to still be laid up in bed (even though he feels fine), but he’s bored and needs to get out of Slater’s place. The healing house?

He isn’t sure, but he can’t sit there anymore. 

Braydon means to just wander around the city proper, but old habits die hard, apparently, and he finds himself at headquarters.

There seems to be a bit of a ruckus going on at the moment. He grabs a passing Q. Ingy, he thinks. He tries not to focus on how stupid the codename is as he asks, “What’s going on here?”

“It’s all hands on deck. Someone was taken.” He starts to continue on his way, but Braydon stops him again. 

“Who?”

Ingy looks like he doesn’t want to tell Braydon. “It was, uh, Slater.”

Braydon’s heart leaps into his throat. No fucking wonder. 

“Thanks, I have to go talk to M now,” Braydon says. He thinks he sees a flash of relief cross Ingy’s face when he turns to go.

“Let me go after Slater,” Braydon says without any sort of formal greeting as he strides into M’s office. 

“No, 005,” M says, zero inflection in his voice. 

“Why not?” Braydon asks. 

“Even if we were going to spend time and resources on someone like that, it wouldn’t be you that went after him.”

He doesn’t even know what to address first. He decides on, “Why not me?”

“You aren’t reinstated yet, 005.” M looks up at him, finally. “Certainly you recall that you are still on medical leave?”

“I’m fine, just tell me where he is and let me go get him.”

“You are doing no such thing; no.” M looks back down at the papers on his desk. “Dismissed.”

“But M, --”

“I said, dismissed.”

Braydon turns and leaves.

He doesn’t have permission? Fine, he’ll do it himself.

Braydon goes to a computer and attempts to log on, only to be denied. Right, not reinstated yet. Shit, he is barely competent with computers on a good day, there’s no way that he’s going to be able to--

“You know, if you just said please, I might help you.” Braydon looks up to see 002’s Quartermaster. 

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Braydon replies. 

“Only bad Quartermasters get in trouble,” he says with a little snort and eye roll. “And I am not bad.”

“Are you sure you want to help me?”

“Slater keeps me company and makes it bearable when my agent is being so ungodly that I wouldn’t mind if…” He pauses. “I’m sure.”

“I just need a gun and maybe a general idea of where he may have gone,” Braydon says.

He wonders about this Q’s weird little Amish beard while he logs in and does his thing. It’s weird, but it works for him.

“Looks like someone missed the tracker in Slater’s necklace.” He hits a few more keys, then frowns. “He isn’t that far away, hardly across town. It might be a trap.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m going,” Braydon replies. “Give me the coordinates and a gun.”

“Keep your head, 005.” He slides a gun and an earpiece towards Braydon. “I’ll be in your ear if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Braydon answers, holstering the gun and slipping the earpiece in as he heads for the lift. If Q noticed that he didn’t address the bit about his head he doesn’t say anything, and that’s just as well.

He wishes this stupid lift would move a bit quicker. 

Braydon pauses in the car park, glances at the various cars glittering like jewels under the lights. 

His Q’s voice comes through crystal clear, _“The blue Aston Martin has recently been serviced and is ready to go.”_

“I think I’ll take the silver Audi,” Braydon answers.

_“I’m a fan of being incognito myself.”_

Braydon doesn’t say that he just feels better in something more sensible. It seems like something that would cause the betting pools to start being about him.

He watches as the boy in the booth jumps to attention to answer a phone, and then the Audi is purring in front of him two minutes later. 

“Thanks…” He squints the boy’s name tag. “Stephens.”

He gets an awkward little salute in return as he slides behind the driver’s seat. 

Braydon sits there a second, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath while he grips at the steering wheel. And then the only thing that stops him from laying on the gas and screeching his tyres on the way out is that Stephens is still standing right there. 

But he does lay on the gas as soon as he’s in the clear. 

//

Q wasn’t kidding. The nondescript building that he pulls up near is hardly into Canterbury. “Do I need to case the place?”

_“Ahead of you on that.”_ There’s a pause. _“Just a couple of guys, all concentrated on the top level, where Slater’s tracer is.”_

“That’s promising,” Braydon says, more to himself than his Quartermaster.

_“Or it’s a _trap_,_” he hisses.

“You aren’t being helpful.”

_“Yes I am!_” He shoots back, indignant. He sort of sounds pleased. Braydon hides a smile behind his hand at the thought of him being happy to have a decent agent for a change. 

Not that he’s a decent anything at the moment. 

“I’m going in,” he says, popping the door. 

_“And I’m watching your back,”_ Q quips before adding, _“All security cameras are jammed on a loop.”_

“Thanks,” Braydon mutters as he comes to a stop in front of a keypad. Not even a fancy fingerprint keypad, just a boring old card and numbers one. 

_“Do I need to get that remotely, or--”_

Braydon snorts quietly. “I could do this in my sleep.” He knows that some of the newer guys prefer the pens, but he still likes to do this the good old fashioned way. He pulls out his favorite card and swipes it. He listens carefully to the beeps the console makes in the aftermath before keying in the passcode, 987129.

He thinks that he hears his Q mumbling something about 002 being inept and how he wishes he had a real agent all the time. It makes him feel a little less inadequate as he slips through the door. 

“Q, there’s a stairwell to my left, will it get me to the top?”

_“Just a second, I’m checking ...yeah, you’re good for that route. All clear, no one in the room at the top or in the room Slater’s tracker is in. But you’ll have a couple somethings to deal with in the middle room.”_

“Just two?”

_“Affirmative.”_

Braydon frowns. The likelihood that this is a trap is getting stronger by the moment. He debates asking for backup for around two point five seconds until he remembers that he doesn’t even have clearance to be here.

Right. On with it, then.

He streaks through the first room, barging right into the second. He quickly takes care of the two guys without even breaking a sweat. They seem low level, so he doesn’t even bother trying to get anything from them before putting them down. He pauses by the door. 

“Still just the one heat signature in the room?”

_“Yeah, all clear,”_ Q answers in his ear. He mutters a thank you on auto-pilot as he takes a minute to prepare himself. Just in case. 

The door opens soundlessly. He doesn’t know why he was expecting it to squeak, unless he’s just waiting for the trap to spring. Which, there should be _something _more than just two guys in an adjacent room.

He slips in on high alert, but the only thing in the room is Slater, sitting on a couch in the middle of the room, studying his cuticles. 

Slater! Is here!

Why is he thinking like a high school kid? Jesus.

“Slater,” he says, just as calm as he can muster, starting towards him. He looks up and his face absolutely starts glowing. He’s beautiful, and Braydon can’t believe that he gets to have this. 

Shit, he’s distracted again. 

“Braydon!” He jumps to his feet, holds his hands up in surrender, which doesn’t make any sense. “Be careful, there’s a force field.” Oh, his hands mean ‘stop, you idiot’. That makes more sense than surrender, for sure. 

But also, “I sort of figured that you wouldn’t just hang out.” He pauses, gestures at all the nothing around them. “Even for this good time.” 

Slater smiles at him. “They let you come get me?”

“Uh, no. They did not,” Braydon admits. “Here I am anyway.”

“Are you going to get in trouble for little ol’ me?” Slater asks. 

“I just happened to wander around a bit, found this cool building and wow, here you are. What are the odds?”

_“Can you wrap this up? Some of us can get in trouble,”_ Q hisses in his ear. 

“Right, sorry.” He says in reply before looking back to Slater. “Tell me about your force field.”

“It’s blue when you touch it. Oh, and there’s these little lightning bolts that shoot all over the surface.”

“There’s. Are you kidding?” He knows whose signature that is, and he can’t believe that Marty’d be so careless as to let someone else get their hands on it. Unless...

Unless he’s left it as a lead to find him.

He can worry about it later. Right now he’s just glad that he knows the vulnerability of this particular gadget. Braydon pulls out his gun. “Where’s the line exactly?”

“The back of that chair is right up against it.” Slater points. Braydon picks up and tosses a nearby pen at it. There’s a zap and a mass of black goo slides to the ground. 

“Get behind the couch.” Slater obeys and he fires a shot at the place where the ground and the force field come together. There’s a little sad whoop of a sound and it flickers out.

“How did you know about that?” Slater’s head pops from behind the couch to ask. 

“My Q was working on this.” Braydon shakes his head. “He couldn’t fix that vulnerability, no matter what he did.” Braydon smiles at a memory. “He complained about it quite often.”

“You know, the guy who checked on me had some of my tech earlier…” Slater stands, furrows his brow for a second and starts to say something else, but-- 

_“Can you two please get the hell out of there?”_

“Yes, Q. Sorry,” Braydon crosses to Slater in three steps, grabs his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

//

Slater is uncharacteristically quiet while they drive back to the flat they’ve been staying in. He reaches for his earpiece once they arrive. “Hey, Q, we’re back.”

_“I’ll send someone after the car, leave the earpiece.”_

“Will do, Q.” Braydon takes a deep breath, releases it slowly. “And thank you.”

_“Anything for Slater. See you at the office.” _

Braydon signs off, pulls out the earpiece and drops it into the console. He looks up at Slater. “We’re clear, come on.” 

Braydon grabs his hand again once they’re through the doors, opting for the stairs over the lift. He pushes Slater into the door as soon as it’s closed and locked.

“I’m so glad that I found you,” he says quietly, cupping Slater’s face.

“Y’really came for me off-mission?” Slater asks, looking up into his face, eyes wide.

“I just found you, there was no way I was gonna let you go.” Braydon leans in, kisses him. “Never gonna let you go.” He frowns. “Unless you want to go, I would never make you--”

Slater puts a hand across his mouth. “Shush, stopping at the romantic bit would be totally brill on your part.”

“You’re right,” Braydon says after he pulls Slater’s hand away. “Come to bed.”

“Take it back. _That’s_ totally brill.”

They trip over their shoes and clothes that they strip along the way, but Braydon is graceful enough to keep them upright until it’s time to fall into bed.

“You’re perfect and this is exactly where you belong,” Braydon breathes, leaning in. 

“In bed?” Slater asks innocently. With a smirk. Arsehole. 

“Under me,” Braydon replies before shutting Slater up in the best possible way.

Braydon wakes up in the morning with Slater curled into him, pillowed on his chest. Braydon feels content, happy even. He runs a hand into Slater’s hair. “Hey, sleepy head. Wake up.”

“Mmm, what if I dun wanna?” Slater says, turning into Braydon’s chest. “Think I really like it here.”

“I like you there, too, but I need to talk to M.”

“Ugh, that’s, like, the least sexy thing ever,” Slater whines.

“Marty is leaving us clues so we can find him. We owe it to him to move on that ASAP.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Slater grumbles, curling into his chest.

“You don’t.”

Slater sighs. “You’re right.”

“We can save time by showering together,” Braydon offers. 

“Now you’re talkin’,” Slater says, all but bouncing out of bed. 

Braydon chuckles and follows after.

//

“Wait right here,” Braydon says to Slater as he strides into M’s office. 

“Okay,” Slater says faintly. 

“Good morning, M,” Braydon offers him the smallest civility before continuing, “I’m ready to go back on-mission. I have some new intel, and--”

“You don’t have a Q, 005.” M steeples his fingers, adding a frown that makes his severe nose appear even more so.

“Funny you should bring that up, because I have one in mind.”

“We are in the process of screening candidates to be your new Q.” He changes tactics, flashing Braydon a smile. It looks...less than genuine. “I’ll get back to you once we decide.”

“No, I don’t need you to decide. I want Slater.”

“005, even if I ignore how he’s magically been returned to us, he’s only been a tech until now and isn’t ready for--”

007’s Q comes running into the room. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in about a week, but, perhaps more importantly, he’s here in a panic.

“I’ve lost contact with 007!” he shouts without introduction. 

“I have to deal with this, 005. You’re dismissed.”

“I can have Slater as my Quartermaster?” he presses. It isn’t that Braydon doesn’t care about 007, but he’ll turn up and there are more important matters for him to address at the moment. 

“Yes, fine, you can have your damned Q. _Dismissed_.”

Slater is absolutely beaming at Braydon when he walks out of M’s office. 

"So.” He’s grinning from ear to ear. “When do we start?"

**Author's Note:**

> Everything's tickety-boo.
> 
> Thanks for reading! ♥


End file.
